


Dinner Date

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [9]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Herald POV, Implied Suicide Attempt, M/M, Retribution Spoilers, Suicide mention, canon typical self loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: It's almost like Richard wants to get arrested





	Dinner Date

It was hard not to count the days.

Daniel told himself that he’d stop after seven. That after a week had passed he could make himself stop looking at the calendar and wondering if. When.

By day five Ortega had noticed, in the unsettlingly quiet way that he sometimes had. It was clear, from the slope of his shoulders to the way he kept running his tongue over his teeth, that he didn’t want to have this conversation. But.

“How’s Richard been doing?” the question still felt like punch to the kidneys.

“Fine. He’s, uh, been busy with work,” Daniel could feel that his jaw was a little too clenched, knew that his eyes darted a little too quickly away; he’d always been a shitty liar. Ortega gave him half a look, one that Daniel couldn’t quite place. It was maybe concern? But still a lot of hesitation. “Nothing you have to worry about,” and he said too quickly and Daniel only barely managed not to wince. Maybe Ortega would have the good graces to let it slide?

“Okay,” he said, clearly unconvinced. He spoke slowly then, “I just haven’t heard from him in a while. Just wanted to,” and he shrugged. “Touch base with you,” the unsaid ‘I know you two have been fooling around’ was left to swing between them like a body in the wind. Maybe even more than being foolish.

“You could always call him,” Daniel wanted it to be a neutral suggestion. Even tempered and mild. It came out dismissive and he groaned internally. Obviously Ortega would have tried calling Richard. He tried to call him almost every day, regardless. There was a lot Ortega may not have known about Richard, Daniel reminded himself, but he knew that his friend had a history of destroying himself if left alone for too long.

“I have been,” he confirmed and Daniel didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. Ortega’s voice shifted down and it was like the air pressure in the gym shifted with him. Felt like that little bit of back of the throat tension that came just before the connection and a spark of static electricity could light up your nerves. “And he hasn’t been answering me,”

It wasn’t an accusation.

Not yet.

They both knew Richard could sometimes go days, weeks, without making contact with anyone. But those habits had dropped off sharply after his, no, scratch that, their involvement with each other had started getting serious. Even then, he would screen most of his calls. He’d been getting better about calling back, though. Him stopping suddenly? Something Daniel didn’t want to think about sunk in his stomach. There had been a part of him that had hesitated that night. Almost made Richard promise that he wouldn’t do anything drastic if Daniel agreed to let him go home.

He didn’t _want_ to worry about him. He wanted to be angry, furious with Richard for what he’d done. And he was. Except for the tiny, slippery thread in the pit of his heart that kept waiting for some sort of sign that Richard hadn’t. Oh god, that he hadn’t.

Ortega was still staring at him.

“We had a fight,” Daniel offered, more comfortable telling the small fib. “A…uh, pretty bad argument,”

And the wind suddenly changed direction, no longer filling the sails of Ortega’s warship. “Oh,” he uncrossed his arms and Daniel chewed his lower lip, wondering what he could and couldn’t say. Should and shouldn’t say.

This wasn’t fair. He’d promised Richard that he would never tell a soul about what he was. But Daniel had assumed that Ortega would know. Why wouldn’t he? He and Sidestep had been the dynamic duo. Best friends. Daniel could remember how Ortega had lost it at that reporter during Sidestep’s funeral—on national TV no less. Daniel had agreed to keep his secret safe because it meant keeping him safe. But he hadn’t really agreed to lie for Richard, had he? 

All the way? To everyone? Even?

“Oh,” Ortega repeated, discomfort now obvious in his expression. “Did you want to talk about it? I mean is everything okay?” It was an open, simple question.

Daniel found himself shaking his head. “I don’t…No. I don’t think it’s okay,” and, thank god, Ortega didn’t jump on that, apparently content to let Daniel try to work out how he could talk about this without actually talking about it. “He said…that when he first learned about me he hated me,” which was the truth, and had struck Daniel hard enough to still leave him bewildered by it.

If Ortega’s rapid blinking was anything to go by, he agreed. “What?”

“He said,” Daniel shook his head again, raking his fingers through hair. “When he first met me, he hated me because I was everything he wanted to be,” his voice sounded distant even to his own ears. That admission alone had been enough to make Daniel’s stomach roll.

Richard had hated him. Which meant the polite words and half smiles and claps on the shoulder had been lies told by a man brimming with the desire to break him. To make him suffer. For something he hadn’t had any control over. For being what the Rangers and the press had made him into. “He told me I make it seem so easy, make it seem natural to be a hero. It sounded like he was jealous. He,” and the words started to slot into place even as Daniel struggled to identify them. “He said that for a long time he thought about hurting me,” because he’d certainly taken his chance to beat Daniel to a pulp and that sort of violence didn’t build up overnight. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it certainly burned in one.

How long had he…

“Jesus,” Ortega rubbed at his chin. “That…,” when the rest of the sentence didn’t seem to be incoming, Ortega shrugged, at a loss. 

“He apologized,” Daniel offered, not entirely sure why he felt the need to say it.

“He said he wanted to hurt you?” Ortega sounded like he was in awe at the notion. Richard? With his watery eyes and fidgety hands and too expressive, too quick, too sharp when he wanted it to be, mouth? Daniel could see it settling in, nesting in Ortega’s chest. Even when he’d been Sidestep, Richard had always been a little prickly, but what vigilante didn’t have baggage? In this day and age, who didn’t have a chip on their shoulder?

_No. He_ did _hurt me,_ Daniel pushed that thought aside. It was true but it wasn’t helping. _He sent me to the fucking hospital._ It pushed back, offended at having been brushed off. Reminded him that Mad Dog had been laughing, warped and distorted, when the bones in his arm had ground into one another till they splintered. Shattered.

Another memory, equally unwanted, equally painful, of quiet. Whispered laughter and soft words against his neck and soft hands on. As though the gentle touches could soothe away the aches they’d caused.

“It,” Daniel rubbed at his forearm reflexively, trying to chase away the ghosts. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t drag you into this,”

“No,” Ortega’s response was lightning quick, too loud and too bright and even he looked surprised by the outburst. He cleared his throat, sheepish. “I’m glad you said something, Herald, I never would have guessed,” and again, like a profane mantra, “He said he wanted to hurt you,”

“We haven’t spoken since,” and he wasn’t sure if that sounded bad or not. “I mean. What can I even say to that?”

“I’m probably not the best person to ask,” Ortega said, an almost nervous chuckle leaving his chest. “I’ve been involved with people who tried to kill me,”

“That’s,” Daniel blinked at the ground, the engines in his head suddenly stalling. His thoughts lost a few hundred feet of altitude. “That wasn’t all for publicity? Did you really…with villains?”

“Not all of the ones the press claimed I did,” the expression on his face was shifting from embarrassed pride to nostalgia, “But one or two, yeah. I was young and stupid and wanted something exciting. Hard to get more exciting than kissing a woman who just shot you in the leg and is still holding a gun to your head,”

“So it wasn’t…,” he trailed. “It was just…wasn’t. Didn’t move past the exciting stage?” Daniel settled on. He didn’t want to think about being in love. Didn’t want to think about how the world dipped away and his heart rose into somewhere brighter, faster, more thrilling. Ortega chuckled, easier now that the conversation was moving away from the ugly topic of the present to the hazy world of the past.

“I wouldn’t say that exactly. None lasted, that’s for sure, but there were feelings there. Sometimes,”

“On both sides?”

“Sometimes,” and even though he wasn’t looking quite at him, Daniel could see the fondness filling Ortega’s eyes. “There was this woman. Smart, wild, drove me insane. I don’t know how many times we fought or how many times we should’ve been fighting instead of,” and Ortega sent him a wink that could have been arrested for harassment. “I spent a…too much time trying to convince her to give it up. Switch sides,”

“Was she the one who shot you?”

Ortega nodded, not an ounce of shame in the motion. “I don’t really know what happened to her. She was running with another guy and after the Rangers took him down, she just,” he made a complicated motion with his hands, a magician pulling off a grand finale. “’Poof’ was gone. I still think about her sometimes. She had the most beautiful eyes,”

“Did she,” and a huge part of Daniel knew that he shouldn’t ask. Knew that it was edging a little too close to the line he didn’t want to acknowledge that he needed to cross. “Did she ever apologize?”

More importantly if she had. If she had, had Ortega forgiven her?

“What?” Ortega tilted his head to the side, considering the question. “For being a villain? Uh, no,”

Daniel fought back a grimace. “No. For, you know, for shooting you,”

He seemed just as off guard by that notion. “Of course not,” Ortega’s brow furrowed. “I mean we spent some quiet time together,” the eyebrows lifted in suggestion. “But we…we either tried to leave what happened in a fight out of the bedroom or we just…continued the fight in a different way; it would have been. I guess it would have meant admitting something bigger was going on if she’s apologized, and neither of us were ready for that,”

Daniel sighed at that, the ‘something bigger’ getting stuck between his teeth. Was Richard his enemy? Mad Dog certainly was and even though Daniel’s heart desperately wanted to think of them as two different people, his head rang strong with the voice of reason. Richard had been his enemy. Was he still? Would he continue to be?

Something bigger going on? Because he apologized.

There was a—oh, Ortega’s hand on his shoulder. “I can’t tell you what to do here. You said he apologized,” Daniel nodded. “Do you believe that he meant it?”

It felt like his heart stopped. Oh god, did he believe him? Completely unhelpfully, Daniel’s brain lifted up the memory of Richard on his couch, shaking. Sobbing into his hands about how he couldn’t keep lying because Daniel was the only one he trusted. The words he remembered were from a different night, tissue paper thin whispers, close to his face because of how tightly he was being held and _I’ve never let anyone see me before._ He’d said nothing had ever made him want to kill himself more.

_Could_ he believe him? Trust that it wasn’t some lie to manipulate him into…what? Richard hadn’t run after the admission. Would he have let himself be arrested if Daniel had had the wherewithal to do it? Would he let himself be arrested when Daniel could find the strength to do it?

“Herald?” Ortega gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You okay there?”

“Yeah, uh. Yes,” and oh, god. It didn’t matter if he could believe him, Daniel realized with a drop to his stomach that he hadn’t felt since he took the hero drug. Didn’t matter in the least because he _wanted_ to believe him. Wanted Richard to be telling the truth. “I think I believe him,” he sounded miserable.

“Then the ball’s in your court, kid,” Ortega gave him a parting pat on the back before turning to walk out. Daniel watched him leave, noting the way Ortega’s posture was still a little too tight. Still on edge, but trying to hide it.

 

It was more relaxed later that afternoon when Herald went to leave for the day. He found Ortega leaning on the receptionists desk, chin resting in his hand, peering over the desk to look at something. The receptionist was giggling and Ortega flashed her an award winning smile and then. They both saw him. And shared a little grin with each other, Ortega winking.

Uh?

“Something arrived for you, Herald,” Ortega’s voice was practically sing song. The receptionist smiled politely, glancing at Ortega before scooting her chair back.

“They arrived a few minutes ago,” and from behind the counter of her desk she produced a. Oh. 

Bouquet of yellow flowers. It was in a small clear vase, tied with a white ribbon. Three large golden sunflowers dominated the group, surrounded by bright yellow daffodils. Thinner sprigs of something Daniel couldn’t identify filled out the other spaces, softer hued and delicate looking.

While Daniel’s face was busy trying not to start a fire through his cheeks, Ortega cleared his throat and held up a small business card.

“Sunflowers, for radiance and happiness,” he sounded like a news anchor reading off the bulletins for the day, “Daffodils for rebirth and new beginnings. And Rue blossoms, for remorse and to say ‘I’m sorry’. ‘Meaningful Arrangements’ by Los Diablos Flores, ltd. And then an address,” Ortega paused, clearly for dramatic effect. “Which does not belong to the flower shop,”

“We checked,” the receptionist almost giggled and Ortega really gave her a heart-throbbing smile, then didn’t he? “It’s to a little deli,”

“Oh,” Daniel offered back quietly. Flowers? What was that about? Did Richard honestly think–

Ortega’s face faltered for a moment and then he took a step forward, wrapping an arm around Daniel’s shoulders and turning him to walk a few paces away from the front desk.

“I won’t get into this,” Ortega started suddenly, which really wasn’t a very reassuring way of starting a conversation, and offered the card for Daniel to examine. “I know apology flowers are pretty cliché, but I think he’s really trying here Herald,”

Daniel chewed his words before he spoke, not wanting to offend. Ortega didn’t really know what was going on, after all.

“I know he’s your friend, but,”

“He’s my best friend,” Ortega corrected. Not sternly. Not angrily. Just as a matter of fact. “And it’s clear that he wants to talk to you. I don’t know what about, entirely. I don’t want to know what about,” which was a bold faced lie, Daniel could tell and raised his eyebrows. Ortega folded surprisingly quickly. “Okay, so I want to know, but, meeting him there isn’t…,” he paused. “Do you think it will make things worse?” 

 

Daniel didn’t know how it could make things better. But too much of him wanted to believe that it might. He’d recognized the address immediately, the same mom and pop deli they’d gotten lunch at the day Richard had told him the truth.

He touched down a few minutes after six pm and took a moment staring at his reflection in the storefront window. There was nothing wrong with not agreeing to see him. Nothing wrong with taking back off and flying back to his apartment. Back to wo—not back to work. Ortega had insisted on putting the flowers on Herald’s desk. Steel had given him a stern look about that. Argent had rolled her eyes. No, not back the office. 

Not back to his apartment, either.

He could handle this. It would suck, no matter what happened and he had no idea what was going to happen, but he could and would do it. He had a plan and he would stick to it. The deli was a public place. A place where if a fight broke out Richard might try to take advantage of civilians nearby. Daniel’s mind poked at that thought a little harder. Mad Dog didn’t hurt civilians. Would Richard? When Daniel went to arrest him, would he cross that line?

The bell tied to the door frame jingled. Mister Bornstein nodded to him from behind the counter with a friendly grin and motioned with his head to the back table, one of only four in the whole place. Richard sat with his back to the door, shoulders hunched. Daniel could see where his knee was bouncing; stuttered, paused and then continued bouncing, but this time slightly slower.

He knew Daniel was there.

Okay. That was okay, Daniel told himself. He took deep breath and the last few steps to the table where Richard sat and.

_Oh god, he looks bad_ , Daniel wasn’t able to stop himself and saw from the slight twitch of Richard’s mouth that he’d heard that. He looked almost the same as the first time Ortega had brought him to Ranger’s HQ.

Haggard and exhausted and frightened. Lips pressed tightly together and every muscle seeming to pinch in close on itself. He’d clearly been drinking but not enough to get himself drunk. The fidgeting lessened a bit as Daniel sat down across from him and he watched as what he could only call wonder begin to temper the fear in Richard’s expression.

“I didn’t think you’d really come,” his voice was hoarse; ragged and raw sounding. It sounded like it hurt him to speak.

“Neither did I,” Daniel admitted after a moment. Richard was struggling to match his gaze—his eyes would lift and then dart away, as if it were too hard to look for too long. “You have ten minutes,” Daniel said firmly, he had a plan. He had a plan and he was going to stick with it come hell or high water.

Richard blinked at him like a man with a concussion before nodding slowly. “Ten—okay. I. Okay, ten minutes. You wanted to know,” and his voice grew reedy, almost squeaking. A hand drew up to rub at his throat, mostly covered by an old turtleneck, the discomfort evident. Richard cleared his throat with a sharp wince. “You wanted to know what other things I had done. So I asked you here to go over them,” he coughed raggedly, head turning to the side. 

As the coughing petered out, Daniel steeled his nerves and held up a hand to stop him. “Wait. Before you say anything,” swallowed hard. “What happens, Richie, if I arrest you tonight?” he was careful to keep his voice down. They were the only two customers in the place, and Daniel trusted the Bornsteins, but that didn’t mean they needed to hear all of this.

“If,” Richard repeated, as if that had been the sticky part of the question. It wasn’t. Daniel was going through with it—he swore to himself. Richard had already admitted to being a criminal—Mad Dog had done tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of property damage, threatened dozens of politicians and slandered the Rangers god knew how many times. “I’ll go to jail, I suppose,” something in Daniel tightened. Just like that? Without a fight? “And from there, once they find out what I am…,” and the muscles in his neck tensed, jaw clenching hard. “The only way I am going back there is to burn it to the ground,” he whispered through his teeth. The crackle of his throat almost turned the words into a growl.

Daniel’s mouth moved without his permission. “You’d kill yourself to keep from going back,” it wasn’t a question, he already knew the answer but Richard’s eyes found a corner over Daniel’s shoulder and focused on it. His face hardened into something that made the animal corners of Daniel’s brain begin shifting to either fight or run.

“I would,” and then it was gone. As if it had never happened. As if Richard had only just realized what his face was doing and was trying to reel it back in. He no longer looked as afraid though, as if affirming that reality helped soothe something in him. “Anyway. If. Ten minutes?” and for the first time that evening his eyes met Daniel’s.

And Daniel’s heart did a very interesting acrobatic act, sinking to the pit of his stomach and rising up to the top of his throat within seconds of each other. “Ten minutes,” he agreed.

“I don’t think I’ll have time to answer questions,” it may have been an attempt at a joke.

“I’ll save them for the end,” Right then. Time to go down the rabbit hole.

“I was the one who broke into Lady Argent’s mind,” Richard clearly wasn’t wasting any time either. “I used her to break into the vault and steal a piece of equipment for my armor and I fought you in her body. There’s a woman that I. That. I needed a. I needed a go between for myself and the people I was. I am working with. I couldn’t risk showing my real face so she went in my place. Goes in my place. Before that it was…I did a lot of petty things. Grifting. I don’t know if all of it was illegal,” his voice grew a fraction stronger and it sent him into another spasms of coughs, harsh and hard.

“You need some water over there?” Mister Bornstein’s half-shout was politely concerned.

Richard shook his head, still wheezing slightly. “Uh, no. No, thank you,” Daniel spoke for him, eyes still trained on Richard’s bent form. He could see the blue eyes starting to water, whether from the physical strain or because of what he was admitting to, it was impossible to tell.

“Alright. If you say so…your orders almost up,”

Daniel’s brain took a moment. “You ordered food?” Dinner hadn’t been part of the plan. It went a long way towards vetting Richard’s claim that he had no intention of running.

“Rude not to,” Richard grimaced for one long second, palm firm on his throat. “Pastrami on rye, right? With Swiss,” and the thin smile was all pain and sadness. Daniel didn’t say anything back. Didn’t know what he could possibly say. His brain didn’t. His mouth followed that line a bit longer.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up?” Richard blinked at him, “With the–,” then realization dawned.

“I guess I would have taken one home?” he muttered, and there was that slightly awestruck tone that he sometimes got with Daniel. He wished he knew what it meant. They regarded each other for a moment in silence. Richard really didn’t look good, pale and sallow and watery. Every so often when he shifted around Daniel could almost catch a glimpse beneath the edge of the turtleneck. Were they bruises or shadows? Richard. Clearly wasn’t in Daniel’s head at the moment, apparently content with letting those piercing, so razor sharp even with sadness softening them, blue eyes run over him.

Perhaps it was longer than a moment.

And then Richard seemed to remember he was on the clock. He started back up quietly. “The bigger things, you already know most of. The things Mad Dog has done. I don’t think I have to list all of them,” and then he listed some anyway, more for himself it seemed than Daniel. “The gala, where I,” his voice almost cracked. He recovered. “The Westfordhouse Investment Company,” reduced to rubble. On a federal holiday so no injuries, let alone casualties. During the rebuild process it had been revealed that the CEO of the firm had been embezzling millions of dollars from their clients. “That time on the Washington Freeway,” he trailed. “I’ve lied to a lot of people, about a lot of things. To you and Ortega and Steel and Argent. That girl at the grocery store checkout who asked if I found everything okay,” and that was clearly a joke and Daniel couldn’t entirely stop himself from smiling. What showed up on his face was small and weak and still he could see Richard register it.

The way his shoulders shifted and hands stopped tearing at themselves quite so feverishly. Then he coughed again, lightly, into his fist.

“Alright, one pastrami on rye and one tuna melt on brown,” the plates slid smoothly in front of them over the checkered tabletop. “You sure you don’t need a water?”

“I’ll be fine,” Richard gave him a polite smile. “Just allergies acting up,” mister Bornstein looked at him, back at Daniel, shrugged and turned around. When he was fairly sure the owner was out of earshot Daniel leaned forward.

“What happened to your neck, Richard?”

“You said you’d hold your questions for the end,” Richard said in return, eyes narrowing in a wince. “And I haven’t had a chance to talk about,” his looked down at the food and his gaze focused somewhere roughly a mile into the center of the earth. When he spoke next his voice was gravel filled. “The…things that happened there,” he cleared his throat, high and nervous. “What’s my time?”

“Richie,”

“I. I, uh, don’t,” he scratched nervously at his hand. Daniel could hear his knee bouncing again. Saw his chest rising and falling a little faster than before. “Really know where to start with that place,”

Daniel’s hands wanted to slide over Richard’s.

Richard’s entire body froze solid, eyes staring blankly at the plate in front of him. The hand on the table began to withdraw and Daniel didn’t think. Didn’t register the motion until he was putting his palm on the back of Richard’s hand and holding it still against the tabletop. Not quite pinned. But you would think for all the way Richard shuddered that it was.

“I don’t forgive you,” Daniel said, a heart-hollow repeat of that night. He wanted to. He couldn’t yet, but god he wanted to.

“I will _never_ ask you to,” and just like that night, Richard didn’t hesitate accepting it. The earnestness in his voice, the desperate honesty, stabbed in deep to Daniel’s heart and twisted. Cranked and pulled until bile welled up his throat.

“I don’t. And I…I need to arrest you,” he whispered. He should have arrested him that night. Stick to the plan, he counseled himself. You had a plan for a reason.

The plan hadn’t involved Richard confessing the brunt of his crimes to him. Hadn’t involved.

“I understand,” hadn’t involved Richard nodding and not even trying to resist. “Because I’m not going to stop, Daniel,” 

“Why?” even though he knew at least in part why. “There’s got to be a better way. I…that place,” and Richard’s hand slid out from under Daniel’s palm, back up against his throat. Not pressing, just resting lightly on the. The not shadows, god, they weren’t shadows they were bruises. “There’s got to be a way to…without hurting the city,” because he hadn’t hurt the people yet. He’d cost the city money. Made lives inconvenient, spreads rumors and propaganda and made a general nuisance of himself. With the exception of how badly he’d hurt Daniel that night…people had lost their jobs because of him, Daniel tried to remind himself. And the public opinion of the Rangers dipped every time Mad Dog made a scene.

Maybe that said something about the public mood which Daniel didn’t want to think about. Not in that moment at least.

“Let me know if you ever find one,”

If I arrest him. When did it become ‘if’? When I arrest him, he corrected himself, when I arrest him, they’ll. And he’ll. And. Richard’s hands were back on the table. Empty and waiting for Daniel to make his move.

“I’m not,” oh god. “I’m not going to arrest you. Not tonight,” Fuck. This was bad. Very bad. Very fucking bad, this was the worst decision he could make, he was supposed to stick to the plan.

“You,” and Daniel thought he could almost feel it that time. A brush of something cool. Nothing he could actually register with his body. The feeling of being watched from across room. Of something at the other end of a long, dark hallway. “You really aren’t,” half of a question, filled with disbelief and it looked like Richard was going to cry. 

“That doesn’t mean you’re off scot free,”

Richard’s entire face seemed to fold in on itself. Apparently his night wasn’t going any more to plan than Daniel’s. “I…what…does that mean?” his hands pulled back, wrapping around themselves.

It meant that this was something more. Meant that it was something completely messed up and broken. Meant that it felt like Richard _wanted_ Daniel to arrest him and had admitted that if he were arrested he’d kill himself and.

Daniel looked down at the table, at the sandwich Richard had ordered for him just in case he showed up. “I don’t know anymore,” A criminal had just confessed to a laundry list of activity and he was Mad Dog, who had broken Daniel like a child’s plaything and he was the star of most of Daniel’s nightmares and most of his wet dreams anymore. A criminal who didn’t even know where to begin recounting the tortures and abuses that were driving him forward. Driving him to let himself be destroyed. And Daniel was in love with him. And, apparently, he was loved back. 

“I’m sorry about the flowers, I know they were stupid,” Daniel watched as Richard picked at his food nervously. “It just seemed like something that normal people do,”


End file.
